Bloody Fur
by Starkreactor
Summary: GraveRobber saw everything on live broadcast. T for blood. One Shot.


Graves finds her Post-Opera

* * *

He'd seen everything on the live broadcast. GeneCo was charitable that way-if you couldn't pay for a front-row ticket you could watch the show on any of several GeneCo maintained hotspots throughout Sanitorium, free of charge. At first he'd spent the show rolling his eyes. Then Amber had lost her face and he'd choked on his Dorito laughing. He only lived to see the end result because a nearby homeless watching the opera saw fit to hit him between the shoulder-blades a few times. (This was after he'd managed to pull himself upright out of the dumpster-he'd fallen backwards into it when he'd started laughing, hence the choking fit.)

The incident with Mag hadn't surprised him, but his heart paused an extra couple of beats in sympathy when she fell. He'd been a vagabond on the streets, pick-pocketing to make it through the day when he'd first met her. She was the blind, easy target who had known exactly what he was up to and not only let him take her money but gave him her fur shawl as well. "It'll be cold tonight." She'd said, feeling gently along his thin, underdeveloped shoulders and then placing the soft, red fur over them. "Make sure to buy something hot for dinner."

The incident with the Repo hadn't surprised him either, but the sight of that kid, rising out of the blood like a sanguine phoenix made him pause. The broadcast ended, probably for clean up, and he sat in the dark for a long time, thinking about where she'd go and how everyone in Sanitarium knew who she was. He'd hopped off of the dumpster and tread through the dark streets, his pale fingers working into his pockets. It was going to be cold that night. Her father's blood would no longer warm her. He'd wondered if it ever had.

He found her in an alleyway behind the opera house, just standing. Her eyes stared at nothing, her limbs were trembling, and her hair was stiff and plastic looking as the blood dried. He stopped, looking at her for a long time. After many minutes her eyes flicked up and settled on him, some spark of vague recognition lighting.

"Hey kid." He said softly, walking towards her. She looked up at him. Her mouth opened like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. Instead she shivered violently, looked at her feet, and crossed her arms. He crouched down in front of her, moving slowly so as not to spook her, and looked up at her bent face. Her lips were trembling. He raised a hand and tentatively put it on her wrist. There was a gasp, and then whatever shock-wall she'd been maintaining shattered. She began crying in earnest, her sobs sounding like physical wounds, her white, skeletal hands un-clenching from her forearms and sinking into the fabric of his shirt as she lost the battle to stand. He acted without thinking, catching her under the arms and supporting her against him, crouched as he was. She was so thin, her weight did not even begin to throw him off-balance.

She shook, and would not quit shaking, even when the tears subsided. He tilted his head so that he could see her face, and she looked barely conscious. Her forehead was resting against his upper sternum and her fingers were still latched into his clothing. She trembled intermittently, and the icy nature of her skin told him everything he needed to know. Carefully, he shrugged his coat off of his shoulders and lay it around her. Her hair was still holding blood that hadn't dried and it smeared on his hands and the fur as he adjusted it. The wet, sweet smell of fresh blood buried itself in his coat and he knew it would not be coming out for a very long time. The ghost of her father was going to be shackled to him.

She was even more dwarfed and skeletal looking in the thick leather and fur, but she seemed to stop shaking so violently under the weight. He placed his warm fingers over her icy ones and carefully pried them free, clenching his jaw as she whimpered as he moved her head off of his chest. Carefully, he picked her up, swathed in his coat like the newborn he'd saved several years ago. Then it had been nothing but his body heat that had kept the child alive. He had a sick feeling that the same was true with the young woman in his arms.


End file.
